I, Arthur
by Burrypo
Summary: "I, Arthur James Kirkland am a sad excuse for a human. I end up doing the most stupid of things and I'm pretty sure my own boyfriend doesn't even like me. I work with a bunch of idiots and my partner is the most obnoxious American you'd ever meet. Yet... things are changing with regards to my social life... Everything around me is changing, it seems." M for later chapters.


**_A/N: Hi all! This is the new account of Highla, after I completely screwed up and lost possession of the account. Long story short, I tried to change the email and didn't check it over. Anyway, this is a little piece I've been trying to do since my January exams, so it's finally going to come together as long as I remember to update :3 Rated M for future chapters~_**

I, Arthur James Kirkland, am finally admitting that I am both a failure of a detective and a failure of a man. Physically and mentally. My unruly hair seems as if it is constantly trying to decide on whether it's blonde or brunette, my eyebrows (though I really do hate to admit it) are like caterpillars on my forehead, and my figure is the most effeminate that you'll ever see on a man. The only reason why I'm with my boyfriend is because honestly no one else will take me, and I'm one of those bloody amazing detectives who live in a wondrous council estate. Flashy. This whole story was really intended to be based on a rather weird case that we took on a while ago, but it'll almost definitely turn into a story about relationships in the end. As with most things that I try to tell people. After all, I'm not like the stereotypical detectives and do in fact have a social life outside of work. I know it's somewhat unheard of, and we're supposed to be married to the job, but fortunately for anyone who's reading this, I won't put you through that usual, "He has an extreme phobia of bacteria so he won't even kiss anyone," thing.

This particular case started out as usual. My boss, Ivan, called at a ridiculous hour again, as if I actually follow his Russian Time Zone sleeping patterns. As my phone let out that bloody shrill sound, I fell out of the bed in shock, and then proceeded to answer in an accent so thick that I believe I'd be unable to understand the words myself. Ivan began yelling something in Russian at me, presumably about my inability to speak English whilst I was tired. Yes, just a normal start... I proceeded to hang up, then crawled to the bathroom to find that my boyfriend, Francis, had used up all of the hot water yet again, and within five seconds of getting into the shower, I somehow managed to drop his razor, which cut a large gash down my hip as it fell. Then, being the genius I am, I almost immediately washed it with what can only be described as a sort of mutant acid soap. I swear, I've never felt such burning before in my entire life. And to make it worse, the French idiot in the bedroom was laughing hysterically at my pain.

As I re-entered the bedroom again in a towel that barely covered my nether regions, I heard a whir and that familiar, "Ohonhonhon." Fuck. Well, it's a little obvious what it was from the cold blast of air as soon as I opened the door. A certain someone decided that it was necessary to turn the fan on full, and had also turned himself into a burrito using the bed sheets to prevent me from warming myself until I could locate clothing or at least turn the fan off. With a sigh, I yelled obscenities at him whilst tugging on whatever clothes I could find on the bedroom floor, ignoring the self satisfied laughs as I did so. Francis is an annoying sort of man. He purposely does whatever he can to piss me off... which is pretty much anything. He allows his beard to grow rough and rubs his face up against mine, he lets his hair grow long so it somehow gets onto my face in the night, and takes the flat keys out of my trouser pockets whilst I'm out of the room so I can't get back in later in the day. Again, I don't know why I'm still dating this idiot.

Once I was dressed and freshened up, I took the phone from my bedside table and called my partner, Alfred. If the thud in the background was anything to go by, he woke in a similar way. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" he responded loudly, his voice thick with sleep, before hanging up. Before I could even explain. I swear I heard him say it from my flat at the opposite side of the building. With a sigh, I made my way to the main room and sat down on the largest of the arm chairs, the one that I always sit in. It's a large, brown leather chair and everyone knows that it's mine so no one is stupid enough to sit in it. It's the only one that doesn't fit with the room, though, and Francis has tried to throw it out several times. Apparently a chocolate brown armchair isn't suitable to have in a pink and cream main room, but it's not like I care. Neither does the white bookcase against the off-white wall, but it's not as if anyone cares about that either.

Here I am rambling again.

Anyway, Alfred arrived forty five minutes later, having clearly rushed the two minute walk between our apartment and his. I gave him an irritated glare and he looked away awkwardly as if I had just confronted him about something embarrassing, but before I could say a word to him, a certain idiot hopped out of the bedroom. Still in the form of a bloody burrito. "How's it going, Francey?"  
"Oh, you know how great it is to be woken two hours after you go to sleep." The two moved closer and Alfred high-fived my idiot's forehead. They then proceeded to laugh and joke with each other as if we had just woken at one in the morning for a game of cards or bingo. As if they were the best of friends or something. The truth is, however, they hate each other with a very, very strong passion. They deny it obviously, but it's easy to tell from the look of pure hatred exchanged between them whenever we all sit somewhere together.

You see, Francis is constantly suspicious that I'm having an affair with Alfred or something of the sort, and Alfred is constantly suspicious that Francis is cheating on me. Working with him all of the time means that if we genuinely wanted to have an affair, no one would actually be able to tell unless we actually wanted them to know, because sixty percent of my waking hours and thirty five percent of my sleeping hours are spent with him. Though, this also means that Alfred hears all of the bad things that Francis does and therefore assumes that he's cheating due to his constant flirting and such. It's like the sort of situation when you're married and your spouse does something to piss you off, so you tell your parents and they never forgive him or her. This is what I have to live with; two weird men who pretend to be the best of friends when in fact they would genuinely like to end each other, if only they were allowed. Yet another reason why my life is so pathetic. Yet another reason why I am such a pathetic excuse for a man. Yay for me.

"So, what's this all about?" that American genius asked with a goofy grin that made me want to knock the stupid out of him. After all, it was way too early for him to be acting so dopey, and even a gentleman such as myself would find it hard to resist if it wasn't for the fact that he was so tired that he'd probably miss completely and make himself look like an idiot.  
"Ivan's sister's clothes have been stolen. Not expensive ones but nevertheless someone broke into her house."  
"And he woke us at stupid o'clock for this?" I sighed. He had a point for once; it wasn't a huge crime that honestly required us to get straight into the office immediately or anything like that, but it was Ivan. He was overprotective of his sisters, no doubt, and if we ignored him he would definitely get pissed off. Even his younger sister who appears to have a crush on him. Occasionally Alfred flirts with her and he completely flipped.

"So, do we have to go in and do interviews or something? I mean, it's not like there's much that we can actually do."  
"I have no idea, Alfred, but we're going to have to go in regardless," I responded quietly. Francis gave a glare. "We should go in now before he calls again and starts cursing at us in Russian again." The two idiots flashed looks at each other, then Alfred gripped my wrist and dragged me out of the apartment. I could hear Francis cursing under his breath in French as we left, but neither of us honestly gave a shit; we now had to get prepared for the usual stuff that Ivan throws at us or we'd get it rough in the office again. We exited the apartment to a cold February morning, and walked slowly down the street together side by side, as if we hadn't a worry in the world. It was just another day, just the same as any other. Except for the fact that it included Ivan's sister, that bit was different. Even so, it was going to be a rather calm day with something to do for once; it was, in a way, worth the early start, the cuts, the cold and the morning.

... Who was I kidding?

It was going to be _awful_ as per usual.


End file.
